The girl who remained on shore plucked up enough panic-courage to
catch her gaudy pink parasol by the ferule and to swing its heavy
handle with all her fear-driven strength at Lad's skull. Luckily,
the aim was as bad as it was vehement. The handle grazed the
dog's shoulder, then struck the lake with a force that snapped
the flimsy parasol in two. Whereat the girl shrieked aloud; and
scuttled back as Lad spun around to face her.

But she might as well have spared herself the scream. She was in
no danger. True, the collie had whirled to seek and resent this
new source of attack. But, seeing only a yelling and retreating
woman behind him, he contented himself with a menacing growl, and
turned again toward the canoe.

One of the men, poising himself, had swung aloft his paddle. Now,
with full strength, he brought down the edged blade at the dog's
head.

But it is one thing to aim a blow, from a tilting canoe; and
quite another to make that blow land in the spot aimed for.

The whizzing paddle-blade missed Lad, clean. Not only because the
dog veered sharply aside as it descended, but because the canoe,
under the jarring heave of the striker's body, proceeded to turn
turtle.

Into the water plopped the two men. Into the water, with them,
splashed their rescued companion. This gentle soul had not ceased
screaming, from the time she was hauled aboard. But now,